|5SOS imagines|

sober - michael

•wagwan bedrins 1. i couldnt be asked to find any more pictures of Michael as i sadly didn't have any that i haven't already used so enjoy mr blobby xx 2. yOungblOOD TOMORROW/MIDNIGJT WOOP aLSO this contains alcohol abuse sort of so yah aLSO WE HIT 3K YES FUCKERS WOOO ALSO MIGHT DO a part two to this so let me know thanks byeee

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you had been kept behind at work for five hours extra, but you didn't mind as you loved your job to pieces. you let michael, your boyfriend of three years, know you were staying late. you didn't get a reply, but you now were just pulling up in front of your house.

upon opening the door the scent of beer wafted in the air, and your mood fell a great deal.

michael was always drunk. after every show, after every rehearsal - even during the shows or rehearsals. you and his friends tried to help him over and over again, but he repeatedly denied it.

"hey baby." you yawn tiredly. you don't get a response, and gently set down your bags on the kitchen counter, grabbing a bottle of water and plopping on the couch next to him.

he smelt like he hadn't showered in weeks; his hair was a mess and he had been wearing that same outfit since you could remember.

"michael, baby, don't you think you've had enough of that?" you sigh, carefully trying to pry the green glass bottle out of his delicate hands.

"fuck off, (y/n)." michael huffs grumpily, gripping the bottle tighter.

"michael."

"what do you want? ive only had like three, calm down." he groans.

"yeah, three every single hour of every fucking day, michael. your never sober anymore, ever. you never fucking listen to me anymore. we don't hang out. we don't talk. we don't kiss. when did we last have sex, michael? we've been going for three years strong, michael, and i know almost everything about you - and this isn't you, baby. im getting worried and so are the rest of the band."

"if you stopped fucking nagging then i wouldn't be drinking."

"so your blaming it on me?!" you yell, standing up from your spot. "the fuck?!"

"move, your in the way of the telly screen."

"no, michael. stop drinking and come to bed!" you protest, trying to grab his arm but he snatches it back.

"i dont want to go to bed with you (y/n)! fucking hell! do you not get the picture? fuck off! leave! go away!" he screeches, leaving you speechless.

as you storm off to your room you slam the door, ripping off your clothes and changing into your own pyjamas, as all of michaels t-shirts either smelled of drugs, alcohol or sweat.

just as you start to drift into sleep, you hear the front door slam.